


A Chain That Did Not Break

by Snooky



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooky/pseuds/Snooky
Summary: In honor of all the brave men and women who resisted. For the 2020 SSSW challenge originally posted on ff.net. Story also cross-posted to ff.net.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	A Chain That Did Not Break

_A Chain That Did Not Break_

Elena Diaz reluctantly turned the key to the door of the small bookshop she managed. It was a beautiful sunny day and as she took a deep breath of air; she wished she could spend her time relaxing on her balcony, taking in the scent of the flowers mingling with the ocean breeze. But, she had a job to do and a living to make, so she turned the handle and entered the shop. After flicking on the lights, she took a quick look around the floor; satisfied that everything was in order, she went behind the counter and got ready for the day.

* * *

Arthur Coleman left his flat at 10:02 am and crossed the street. His first stop was at a news kiosk, where he purchased an English language paper. He walked for a bit, and then sat down at a bench to adjust his shoe. He quickly looked at the front page of the paper, turned to the classified section and saw the coded message. **He had to collect a suitcase full of books from a café in Ceuta** and deliver it to a contact in town. Where it went after that was not his problem. The less you knew the better, he always said. The Spanish territory on the north coast of Africa, which bordered Morocco, was full of spies. He liked it that way. It made his life interesting and he thrived on adrenalin and danger. He also hated fascists, so there was that. Fortunately, despite every effort by Germany to get Franco and Spain into the war, while the Fascist state was sympathetic to the Nazi's and often helped in different ways, they officially remained neutral.

Coleman found an outside table with a clear sightline. If need be, he could leave the café in seconds and get lost in the streets. He ordered coffee and waited until he spied his contact entering the building. After a few minutes, he rose from his chair, left money on the table and went into the building, heading for the back where the restrooms were located. The small suitcase was waiting in the stall. He grabbed it and left the cafe, exiting through a back entrance.

* * *

At the sound of a small bell-signaling someone had entered the store-Elena looked up. Her pulse quickened as she recognized the man entering the shop. This was the fourth time he had come in, and if past experience was anything to go on, he would be carrying a box of used books, which she would purchase and then shelve.

He paused at a few of the displays before walking over to the counter at the rear of the shop. "Good morning. I've brought some more of my grandmother's used books to sell."

"Good morning, sir. I'll take a look." This was the routine. He'd leave the box at the counter, and while she emptied the contents, he would browse, sometimes choosing a few books to take with him.

This time, he came up empty. Elena frowned. This box of books was not worth much. Not that she thought he cared. After all, this was a game. A dangerous one. At first, when offered the opportunity to help these operatives-of course she knew that's what they were, and that they worked for the allies- she was reluctant. **I don't like this game** , she told herself the first time the process was completed. She literally thought her heart would beat so hard it would erupt from her chest.

 _I'm not brave or courageous. I don't speak multiple languages. I'm just running this bookstore, which has been in my family for generations_. But, she read the papers, and she saw the refugees, some of whom were obviously too scared and scarred to do much except walk around in a daze, while they waited for visas or the funds to get out of the country and make their way somewhere else. Most of them were Jewish, and they slept in the train station, under overpasses; or ten to a room; anywhere they could find space. And then there were the wealthy. They waited in the luxury hotels, eating luxurious meals, not giving a thought to the desperate tide of humanity counting their blessings for being out of Germany or the occupied areas, but always pessimistic that they were living on borrowed time. Should the Nazis gain control of these areas, should Franco make a deal, should the fighting in Africa turn in a bad direction, they would again become the hunted.

It was listening to these entitled people that set her on this path. Her neighbor,, an American journalist, invited her for lunch at one of the swanky hotels patronized not by the exceedingly wealthy, but those who wanted to be accepted into their group. The conversations were inane.

" **I once accidentally bought a horse** ," one woman said to her companion. "I thought it was a racer, and then I found out it was a stud, and not a very good one at that."

Her companion tsked in sympathy. "Whatever did you do?"

"I got my money back and told the seller off in no uncertain terms."

The conversation continued; the women complained about the heat, the food, the natives, and the refugees who came with nothing. Their anti-semitism was on display for everyone to hear. They had no shame.

She was appalled at their callousness and said so out of earshot. It was her neighbor who introduced her to an attaché at the embassy. He talked her into helping the Allies by performing a small service.

"No books for you today, sir?" she asked in as light a tone as she could muster.

"No, miss." He paused. "You know, on second thought, I do need some more reading material. Can you find me something that is not too serious?"

Once she rang up his purchases and he left the store, Elena shelved the books. She assumed crucial information was hidden within the pages. Messages, secrets, or perhaps a new way to decipher a code, or a new way to send or receive transmissions could be in there, but there was no way she would pick them up and look.

Sometime in the near future, one or more persons would enter the shop, and purchase some of these books. Remarkably, they knew without asking where they'd be shelved. Elena assumed a few of the books meant nothing. That made sense, didn't it?

Two days later, a young woman entered the shop. She began browsing the shelves on her own, and rebuffed Elena's offer of help. The woman had an air of competence and self assurance about her. Elena wondered if she had come in to purchase one of the books recently left by Elena's contact. She busied herself by ringing up the other customers and then waited. The woman now had a stack of books in her hand, and she brought them over to the counter. The woman's hair was dark; Looking closer, Elena thought it appeared to be dyed. Her pulse quickened as she sorted the woman's purchases.

Her customer smiled at her. "Nice morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, miss. It is indeed. But, be careful of the sun. You can burn easily."

"I will. Thank you."

Yes, the woman was taking one of the books. Elena looked at her customer with admiration. What kind of adventures had she been through? Who was she working for? The woman spoke Spanish with an accent. Elena guessed she was French. A member of the French resistance, perhaps? She had to stay professional and keep her thoughts to herself. The woman paid for her purchases and Elena wrapped them up. "Thank you for shopping with us, miss."

"You're very welcome. You have a wonderful shop." The woman put the stack of wrapped books in the mesh carry bag she had with her. And with that, the woman left, and Elena went back to work.

* * *

The French resistance leader known as Tiger left the shop and crossed the street. She walked with a purpose, but not fast enough to draw any attention. Although her rooming house was close by, she took a longer route, and once satisfied she wasn't followed, she entered the building. Her lodgings were provided by MI9-the British agency tasked with overseeing the rescue of Allied soldiers and fliers caught behind the lines after the fall of the western countries. After her capture by the Gestapo in Paris, and subsequent rescue, Tiger was told to stay low, and she joined a few fliers on an escape line out of the area, undertaking a dangerous and arduous trip across the Pyrenees that took her into neutral Spain. She later found her way to Ceuta; a waystation where she could rest before she could catch transport to London. She had no plans to stay in England. Once she was debriefed and completed some training, she would insist on returning to the continent to continue her resistance work. The scheduled pick-up of the code book signaled she was near the end of her time in Africa. All she had to do now was wait for her contact to inform her it was time to leave. But, for now, she had to check the book and make sure everything was in order.

That was her plan until she went to open the door to her room. Her sixth sense told her someone was waiting for her. Her traps, signaling someone had entered the room, weren't disturbed, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She removed a small revolver from her purse and slowly turned the key in the lock. Standing aside-before they could shoot her-she quietly called out, "I know you are in there; tell me what you want before I shoot!"

"It's me. You know there was a man outside the building waiting for you."

"I didn't see anyone," Tiger replied through the door. "Who was he?"

 **"I don't know what he was but he was wearing a fez**. And he was carrying a Spanish-English dictionary."

Tiger opened the door.

"We need to change our recognition code," said the visitor. "Lots of people are seen wearing a fez in this neck of the woods.

"Hello, Arthur." Tiger closed the door behind her. She didn't bother to berate the Brit on his breaking and entering. "Hopefully, I shall be on my way to London soon. Is this what this is about?"

"Yes. I have your documents. You leave tomorrow." He smiled. "I shall miss you, you know."

"Well, perhaps we will meet again." Tiger replied. She put her carry bag and purse down on the table. "We've only known one another a few weeks," she reminded him. "I picked up the code book from the shop. I guess if I'm leaving tomorrow, I should pass it on?"

"No, that is your individual book." Coleman stood up and approached her. "There's one more thing. We have a serious situation, and we could use your help. I understand you have a special contact in Germany?"

* * *

Kinch was on duty in the tunnels that night when a signal came through in Morse code. He grabbed his pencil and notebook and began the decryption, which would then be further decrypted once he looked at the newest code book. He paused for a moment. The sergeant was able to recognize multiple operators, all of whom had unique ways of sending messages. He was shocked, but recovered and listened intently, while hitting a connection that would send a prearranged signal up top.

The men in the common room heard the three buzzes. It was not a dire emergency, such as an intruder, or a serious tunnel problem, but it meant that Kinch needed to see Colonel Hogan right away. The man closest to Hogan's office relayed the message and the colonel took off for the tunnels.

"It's Tiger, Colonel."

"You sure?" Hogan hoped she left France but had no idea where she went after they parted in Paris.

"Yes, sir. I recognize her hand. And she sent the code words."

Radio operators had specific signals they could use to let receivers know if they were compromised. It was not one-hundred percent fool-proof, but it was the best they could do.

Hogan took a deep breath. He was relieved to hear she was safe. But, he was also curious as to why she was contacting them. He had so many things he wanted to say; but this was serious business.

"I have the entire message. She's signing off," Kinch said.

"Let's see what it says."

* * *

Tiger signed off; it was too dangerous to be on the radio for any longer than necessary. She had so many things she wanted to say to Robert, including that she was headed to London and then back into France. That would have to wait.

"I sent the message. And they confirmed it was received. All we can do now is hope they can help."

"Best we can do," Coleman said.

Tiger sighed and sat back in her chair. After Coleman explained the emergency, Tiger packed up her meager belongings, and set off with him to his apartment to use his radio. She would stay there until the following day, sleeping on the sofa, until it was time to report to the boat taking her to Gibraltar, and then to catch a plane to England.

* * *

After deciphering the message, Baker took over on the radio, and Hogan and Kinch went up top. The colonel convened a meeting by candlelight around the table in the common room. As usual, someone watched out the window for signs of any Germans conducting a surprise bed inspection, although the chances of this happening were unlikely.

"What was so important, Colonel?" LeBeau handed him a mug of hot ersatz coffee.

"We received a coded message about the Red Orchestra."

There was a moment of silence. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone in the barracks knew about the group dubbed the Red Orchestra by the Gestapo. It consisted of courageous civilians and some officers working against the Nazis in both Germany and occupied Europe. They weren't connected with the small Hamelburg area Underground, nor with the nearby French coordinators, such as Dubois and Tiger. The men knew better than to ask who sent the message, although while Hogan was down below there was speculation. They also knew that many, if not most of the people, had been captured.

Hogan continued. "Several members managed to escape capture and have been hiding somewhere in Germany. But it's getting too dangerous. We've been asked to help."

"Do we know where they are?" Carter asked.

"No. We couldn't afford to send too much information. Their location will be sent to us by another contact sometime tonight. It's up to us to figure out how to get them away from their location and to camp."

A brief message several hours later provided a location near Frankfort.

Hogan called his core team into his office the following morning, where they began to throw out ideas and discuss options. As per his command style, he gave the men an opportunity to throw out suggestions and questions. Every plan so far was dismissed as being too impractical or too dangerous.

"Where are they, Colonel?"

"I'm not divulging that information, LeBeau, but I think it's too far for one of us to get there and back in time for roll call. And the Gestapo, SS and goodness knows who else are looking for these people. Any one of you making that journey, which if I might add is the opposite direction for an escaping POW, will be shot-or worse."

"How about I go, sir?" Olsen asked. "You can bring up one of the men down below to take my place."

"No. Too far. Besides, I'm saving you in case we have to pick them up a bit closer to home, and then bring them in. I may have an idea."

"Danzig?" Kinch suggested. "He's recovered from being shot."

The head of the Dusseldorf resistance was shot while meeting with Hogan and his men back in December the previous year. LeBeau was injured as well, although fortunately, it was only a graze. But, Danzig was seriously injured, and it took a drop of the new wonder drug, penicillin, to save his life. Hogan had no idea how London managed to get the doses, but he was grateful.

Hogan thought for a moment. "I thought of that as well." He hated to ask Danzig for help, as he knew the female impersonator was lying low, but he had to try. "Kinch, set up a meeting."

* * *

Dressed as a Luftwaffe officer, Hogan left camp that afternoon through the emergency tunnel entrance. He was accompanied by Olsen, who was dressed as Hogan's aide. They headed for a meetup point near a small cave discovered by Olsen earlier that year. It was expertly camouflaged. After making sure they were not followed, Hogan and Olsen entered the cave and waited. One half- hour later, they heard the weeds and brush hiding the entrance, rustle.

After a set of recognition codes, Danzig entered the cave.

"Colonel Hogan. I have to thank you for saving my life."

"You're welcome. I hope we can get more doses of that drug. But, I don't know when it will be available on a mass scale. I wouldn't have called you for help, but this is vital."

"I have heard from my sources this involves helping a few people on the run. The entire Gestapo is on the lookout. Their photos have been spread around."

"Correct." Hogan handed Danzig a piece of paper. "That is the location. Right now, it's too far for us to go. But we may be able to have Olsen meet you halfway, and help bring them in. We'll also make a few calls and say they've been spotted. That will send the Gestapo in the opposite direction."

Danzig looked down at the paper. "There have been too many captured. And there has been enough torture and betrayals already. I will help."

Olsen looked at Hogan, who was not surprised that Danzig hinted he knew more than he was saying.

"Thank you. Contact us with a pickup point."

"I'll do that, Colonel. I must be going. Wait until you hear from myself or Maryse."

* * *

The radio call came through the following evening, and Olsen set out with Schnitzer to pick up the three resistance members. It was safer not to have them on the road, so the plan was to bring them in with the dog truck the next day.

Schnitzer had taken steps recently to make it safer to smuggle people in and out of camp. He and Olsen had worked on the truck until they managed to put in a false bottom in the back. The three resistance members hid there, while five real dogs took up the rest of the space above them. The dogs could act as vicious as the vet or Olsen wanted. The pickup went as planned, and the truck rolled into camp, and parked by the dog pen. Olsen quickly and safely got the people down into the tunnels through the dog house, and then nonchalantly entered the compound, as the vet switched animals around.

The group consisted of two men and one woman. It was hard to tell their ages, and they were quite thin. The terror and stress showed on their faces, as did their bewilderment once they came to terms with their hiding place.

"We had no idea where we were being taken, Colonel," said the oldest guest, a man who claimed he was in his early 40's. Hogan had initially added a decade to his age.

He was a Jewish professor who had lost his job years earlier and then went into hiding.

"We keep that quiet until our guests are safely inside," Hogan replied.

"And that young man is a prisoner as well?" asked the woman in broken English. She appeared to be in her late twenties and claimed to work mainly as a courier.

His guests already knew they were in a POW camp, so there was no harm at this point in confirming her suspicion. "He is," Hogan told her without giving Olsen's name. The third resistance member remained quiet. Olsen told Hogan this man had already spent time in a prison but was released after a year. Although he was mentally and physically damaged, he went right back to his resistance cell and continued to work.

"Ah, here's some food for you. We have a professional chef in our ranks," Hogan explained.

LeBeau had prepared some chicken soup with whatever he could get by bribing guards. Newkirk supplemented that by breaking into the staff mess and stealing the rest. It took a few minutes to handle the delicate task of getting the bowls and bread down the ladder. LeBeau watched like a mother hen while the grateful guests ate.

"Do you eat like this every day?" asked the woman.

"Oh, no. mademoiselle. That would be impossible. We do what we can with Red Cross packages, and every so often we get other items. We also have a mess." LeBeau frowned.

"He can take stuff from our packages and make a gourmet meal out of spam." Kinch smiled as he passed by. "Colonel, I'm in contact with London in 2 minutes."

"I'll be right there," Hogan said. He looked at the three guests. "This may tell us how you are getting out of here and when."

Sending the group out through an escape line through France to Spain was considered too dangerous, as was sending a plane for a pickup near their location. Instead, Olsen would get them to the French border. Dubois and his unit would arrange for a safehouse until a pickup could be made by plane in France. The Underground there was used to planes coming and going. It was still very hazardous, but the best alternative.

They were given the okay to make the trip three days later. A downed flier took Olsen's place and he got ready to set out.

The spokesman of the group shook Hogan's hand and offered thanks. "We all have cyanide capsules. We will not let ourselves get captured, Colonel. Believe me. Last thing we want is for the Gestapo to find out about you and your brave men."

"I have every faith you won't need them," Hogan replied, although he knew that Olsen had one on him as well. He also explained how they had contacted the Gestapo, reported they had been sighted and sent the Gestapo in the opposite direction.

Olsen returned a day later and reported a successful pickup at the border. Dubois got in touch several days later and reported a successful operation in France and a safe landing in England.

"And this is why we get the big bucks," Hogan joked later that day. He and his men were in the compound enjoying the sun.

"Do you think these people and their friends will ever be known after the war, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"I hope so, Carter. I hope so."

the end.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Please let me know of any errors, typos, etc so I can fix them later. This was a real rush job.
> 
> Unfortunately, it took years before appropriate recognition was given to the many of the resistance groups.
> 
> According to a wiki, someone with a lot of time in their hands dates the Tiger Hunt in Paris episode as December, 1942.
> 
> Tiger took one of the 3 major escape lines out of France and into Spain. There are now multiple books written about the Red Orchestra, as well as the brave men and women (mostly women) who acted as conductors on these escape routes. Check the book topic in the forums.
> 
> "The Red Orchestra (German: Die Rote Kapelle, German: [ˈʁoː.tə kaˈpɛ.lə] (listen)), as it was known in Germany, was the name given by the Gestapo to anti-Nazi resistance workers during World War II. It primarily referred to a loose network of resistance circles, connected through personal contacts, uniting hundreds of opponents of the Nazi regime. These included circles of friendship and discussion centered around Harro Schulze-Boysen and Arvid Harnack in Berlin, alongside many others. They printed and distributed illegal leaflets, posters, and stickers hoping to incite civil disobedience; helped Jews and opposition escape the regime; documented the crimes of the Nazi regime; and forwarded military intelligence to the Allies. To date, about 400 members are known by name.
> 
> Contrary to legend, the Red Orchestra was neither directed by Soviet communists nor under a single leadership but a network of groups and individuals, often operating independently." Wikipedia
> 
> about the books-I have read in more than one memoir or non-fiction book that this was a method used by resistance members to get codes. Here is another wikipedia entry:
> 
> "Arnould identified two passports belonging to Trepper and Gurevich, his deputy in Belgium. From the scraps of paper recovered, Wilhelm Vauck of the Funkabwehr[80] was able to discover the code being used was based on a chequerboard cypher with a book key.[79] Arnould, recalled the agents regularly read the same books and was able to identify the name of one as Le miracle du Professor Wolmar by Guy de Téramond.[81] After scouring most of Europe for correct the edition, a copy was found in Paris on 17 May 1942.[81] The Funkabwehr has discovered that of the three hundred intercepts in their possession, only 97 here enciphered using a phrase from the Téramond book. The Funkabwehr never discovered that some of the remaining messages had been enciphered using La femme de trente ans by Honoré de Balzac.[82]"


End file.
